"You are wanted," he said. "Master is asking for you; he has sent Miss Clare to your room to see if you are ill." "I must go, my boy," said Mrs. Carruthers, as she hastily kissed him; "and you must not stay. Come with me, Ellen, for a moment. Wait here, George, for what I promised you, and don't travel back to town without an overcoat." Then she left the room at once, the housekeeper with her. George stood where she had left him, looking towards the door. "My dear practical mother," he said to himself, "she is as kind and as sensible as ever. Wretched about me, but remembering to desire me to buy a coat! I know she will get me the money somehow, and this _shall_ be the last scrape I will get into. It's no use being melodramatic, especially when one is all alone, but I here make a solemn promise to myself that I will keep my promise to _her_." He sat down by the fire, and remained still and thoughtful. In a few minutes Mrs. Brookes returned. "Here's the money, Master George," she said. "I was to give it to you with my mistress's love, and she will write to you to London." He took the folded paper from her hand. It was a ten-pound note. "Thank you, nurse," he said; "and now I will go. I would like to stay and have a talk with you; but I had better get away, lest any annoyance should come to my mother through my staying. I'll see you when you come up to town to the fine house in Mesopotamia. Eh?" "Lord, Master George, how you do go on! Why, Mr. Carruthers's new house is the far side of the Park." "I know, nurse. It's all the same thing. No. No more wine, thank you, and nothing to eat. Good-bye.--How am I to get out, though? Not through the window, and up the area wall, am I?" "I'll show you, Master George. This way." George Dallas buttoned his coat tightly across his breast, carefully put on his gloves, and took up his hat. As he followed Mrs. Brookes through the long stone passages of the basement story, he looked curiously about him, noting the details of comfort and convenience. "How much better off than I are my mother's servants!" he thought, idly rather than bitterly. When they reached a door which opened upon the court-yard, Mrs. Brookes bade him farewell, not without emotion. "The great gates are open," she said. "All the servants are either in the hall or the servants' hall. None of the carriages have been called yet. You can slip past without being seen; or if any one sees you, they'll think you belong to the place."